


Win, Lose, or Fight

by katmarajade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bickering, Co-workers, F/M, Lawyers, Ministry of Magic, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3061898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katmarajade/pseuds/katmarajade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As top prosecutor and defence attorney for the Wizengamot, Cormac and Hermione are constantly butting heads. What will it take to push them over the edge?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Win, Lose, or Fight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/gifts).



> Written for Inell as part of my annual holiday gift fic series. This one totally got away from me! Apparently, Cormac really wanted his story told—thoroughly! Full disclaimer: I know VERY little about the legal system, so please don't come after me with legal pitchforks if I've fudged things a bit. Thank you to thimble-kiss for pointing out a serious problem with my first draft and pushing me in the right direction.

Cormac McLaggen had been smitten with Hermione Granger since he was a stupid, swaggering fifteen-year-old with a spotty chin and far too much bravado. Not like he hadn't moved on a bit over the years, enjoying dalliances and a fair few relationships with a plenty of clever, lovely young ladies. He'd even thought a couple of times that perhaps this one would work, could be _the one_. Then Granger would storm in, her hair as bushy and wild as ever, a scowl on her face, and tell him what an utter imbecile he was, and Cormac would fall in love with her all over again.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, Cormac was never quite sure), this happened rather often now that they were both working as Ministry barristers for Wizengamot cases. As top prosecutor and defence attorney, the two of them shared posh adjoining offices, and their secretaries shared the entry.

For some reason, Hermione could still not see past their school days and considered Cormac both a complete fool and an arrogant arse. Despite Cormac's best intentions, he often played into both of those beliefs, sometimes purposely and sometimes not.

The main issue was that he was the top defence attorney for the Ministry of Magic; he was _expected_ to remain cool and confident at all times. No one wanted a barrister who mumbled constant apologies and looked like he had no idea what the bloody hell he was doing! Although he'd tried to show her that he'd grown up and the person he had to be at work was not who he really was outside of the office, Hermione only took this work persona as evidence and proof of exactly who he was.

Their current case involved Thorfinn Rowle, who had finally been brought in by the Auror Department after more than a decade in hiding. Rowle was a hulking man, with broad, hunched shoulders and a thick, ruddy face. Though he was loath to admit it, even Cormac with his tall, sturdy frame felt downright puny next to him. It wasn't just his size or his sneer or his brutal expression; the man was rotten to the core and gave Cormac an uncomfortable almost queasy feeling in his gut.

This was the monster he was supposed to defend. The idea made Cormac a bit ill, but he kept his poker face firmly intact. This was his job, to make sure that justice was served and that everyone—even scum like Rowle—got a fair trial.

Unfortunately, after a month of case preparations and three days in court, it looked like Cormac might actually _win_. Fighting back a shiver of disgust when Rowle smiled at him, Cormac excused himself to retrieve some important documents back in his office. (There were, of course, no documents—but Thorfinn Rowle smiling was somehow even more disturbing than his usual glower.)

There he ran into Hermione, her bushy hair escaping its careful braid and her face flushed with frustration.

"McLaggen," she hissed, making his name sound shockingly dirty.

"Granger," he responded, giving her a tired nod. He did not have time for her ire right now. She was the prosecutor on this case and she was doing an uncharacteristically piss poor job of it. He knew of at least three different eyewitnesses who would testify if asked, and that wasn't even counting the legion of Muggles who could identify Rowle and place him at the sites of a dozen onerous and deadly attacks. To his knowledge, Granger hadn't tracked down, interviewed, or used a single one of those resources. If his slimy defendant went free, it would be her fault.

"How can you live with yourself?" she exclaimed, and Cormac sighed. Great. It was time for yet another righteous tirade from the honourable Ms Granger. Usually, he enjoyed a good verbal sparring. She was gorgeous when she was pissed off, and her insults were generally witty and cleverly formed, which he appreciated. Today, however, he was not in the mood.

"How can _I_ live with myself? I'm at least doing my job. What the hell have you been doing lately?"

"I have been trying to bring about justice and convict a Death Eater who spent years torturing, maiming, and killing innocent people. You, on the other hand, are letting him walk free." Her tone was as self-righteous as ever and Cormac wanted to throw his hands in the air, his frustration nearly boiling over.

"Letting him walk free? That's rubbish. If he walks free, it will be you who let him."

"You're blaming me? You're the one so staunchly defending someone so horrific."

"Bloody hell! I'm a defence attorney—that's my job! What do you want me to do? Everyone deserves a fair trial, everyone. No matter who they are or what they've done. It's what makes this a _justice_ system instead of a vengeance one. It doesn't matter whether or not I like my clients or even whether I believe in them. What matters is that they've got a right to an attorney, and I have an obligation to perform that duty to the best of my ability. For Merlin's sake, Granger. You of all people should know that."

Lips pursed and fists clenched, Hermione looked torn, as if she couldn't decide whether to acknowledge that he had a point or to ignore it entirely and punch him in the face. It was her condescending expression that pushed him over the edge, in the end.

"Look, you can rail against me all you want, Granger, but you're the one overlooking the obvious. The prosecution's case is pathetic, and unless you start doing your damn job, I'm going to wipe the floor with you. I know you think I'm soulless and don't care about anything but winning—you've made that quite clear over the years. But have you ever thought that maybe I became a barrister because I actually _care_ about justice. Of course I want to make sure the innocent go free, but that doesn't mean for a second that I don't damn well want the guilty ones locked away too. And that I need you to do your job as well as I do mine so that that happens."

"Ha—as if you're the better barrister here," Hermione shot back, but Cormac felt a wave of relief wash over him. If she was lashing out with comebacks as lame as that one, it meant that he'd hit a nerve. He could only hope that it had done the trick and that she would actually put that big, swotty brain of hers to good use and see the damning evidence that was right in front of her sexy little nose.

"If you want to prove otherwise, you are going to have to step up your game." Feeling a bit more optimistic now, Cormac gave her a wink and his most dazzling grin. "See you tomorrow, Granger." He could practically feel the fire of her glare on his back as he walked away.

Fire was good. He'd stoked the resentful embers that had been smouldering where Granger's brilliance normally so brightly shone. She might never admit it, but he was the one who'd brought her back, who'd fanned the flame.

Within two days Granger had entered four new witnesses, two of whom had not even been on Cormac's not inconsiderable radar, and the tide had turned. Naturally, Cormac maintained his professional demeanour throughout, but inside he was cheering as wildly as a kid watching his first professional Quidditch match. His always-collected expression stayed firmly in place for the rest of the trial, as he watched Granger _destroy_ his client, and he kept his air of cool as his scumbag of a client was sentenced to life in Azkaban. After Rowle had been restrained and led away, Cormac faced the rabid hordes of reporters, full of loaded questions and aspersions on Cormac's character—both for defending Rowle in the first place and for losing the case. Never once did he falter, his face always displaying strength and confidence, unfazed by anything they could throw at him.

Always in control, that was Cormac. Never show an ounce of weakness or doubt. Cool and confident McLaggen. Feeling pretty good about himself, Cormac strode through the corridor towards his office, ready to leave his casework behind and enjoy an evening out with his mates. Striding into the entryway of his office without looking, he was stopped short by Granger, who was leaning against her secretary's desk, apparently waiting for him.

"Looks like you finally decided to play the game, Granger," he said with a smirk. Internally, he kicked himself, wondering why he had this constant need to goad her when all he really wanted to do was tell her that she was incredible.

"I told you. I'm the best," she retorted. Her smug look faded quickly, however, and he found himself shifting uncomfortably as she stared at him intently. "Thanks for the kick in the pants, McLaggen. As much as I hate to admit it, you were right."

She paused briefly, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips like she was trying to decide something important, then abruptly leaned forward and gave him the world's briefest hug. By the time Cormac had processed that she had actually touched him—of her own free will and without any threat of violence—she was leaning against the desk again, brushing invisible lint off of her tailored robes.

For the first time in recent memory, Cormac's cool was shattered. He felt his face flush and that annoying knot was playing at the back of his throat, the one that he knew from youthful experience would result in an embarrassingly cracked voice if he tried to speak. Honestly, he could stay calm in the face of _anything_ except apparently for Hermione Granger. It was mortifying.

"Fancy getting a celebratory drink?" Granger asked, her face smooth and serene, the exact opposite of Cormac's frazzled and flustered feelings.

Drawing on bravado in an effort to hide his sudden regression into an adolescent moron, Cormac let out an awkward laugh. "Celebrating your win?" He wanted to kick himself repeatedly—what was his damage? For Merlin's sake, he was being completely ridiculous and it was bloody embarrassing! He was better than this! _Get it together, McLaggen!_ he thought viciously.

But Granger just gave him an amused almost smile, seeming either not to notice or not to care that he was humiliating himself. "Perhaps one could say that this was a win for both of us."

Despite his best efforts, his practised charm, and many years of perfecting his ability to keep cool under pressure, all Cormac could do was grin like a complete fool.


End file.
